


makes you think all the world's a sunny day

by Lirazel



Category: Infinite (Band), K-pop
Genre: F/F, always-a-girl verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 22:34:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1404997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lirazel/pseuds/Lirazel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>...but of course on her first day of class, she drops her guitar case on a tall, lanky girl with awkward shoulders and the world’s most adorable smile because you always fall in love on your first day.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	makes you think all the world's a sunny day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kwritten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kwritten/gifts).



> Always-a-girl 'verse. Plot and first line adapted from a prompt from kwritten.

Sungkyung isn’t really expecting the new university to be any more exciting than the one she’s just transferred from—because university is university and not the Glastonbury Festival or even a succession of stale-beer-scented dives with stages barely big enough for a whole band—but of course on her first day of class, she drops her guitar case on a tall, lanky girl with awkward shoulders and the world’s most adorable smile because you always fall in love on your first day.

Sungkyung had fallen in love on her first day at her first uni, too, with a sunbae with a choppy haircut and a pair of Doc Martens and a habit of discovering a new favorite band each week. Things with Jinah hadn’t ever worked out the way Sungkyung wanted them to (read: Jinah was straight and had a boyfriend with a series of unfortunate tattoos), but at least Jinah had introduced her to the other girls who ended up forming Beat together. Beat had gotten Sungkyung through the first sulky semester of broken heart and uni adjustments, a second semester of fallout after telling her parents she was changing her major to music theory, sophomore year of overloading her schedule trying catch up so she could still graduate on time, and junior year of the whole meltdown with Seungah and the bronchitis that left her unable to sing for almost six months. 

But the end of junior year presented Yerim with a chance to study abroad (in _London_ ) and Sera had followed her boyfriend to Thailand or wherever and so Boa decided to form a duo with her hoobae Bohyung, and Sungkyung was left with nothing but her guitar, a succession of notebooks full of sloppily-written compositions, and absolutely nothing keeping her at a university she’d always sort of hated anyway. The campus was too cramped, the professors were too conservative in their musical tastes, and the rest of Beat had been the only real friends Sungkyung had. Sungkyung isn’t exactly a spontaneous person, at least when it comes to anything but music, but the thought of spending one more year in that place without any of the people who made it worthwhile wrapped around her throat and tightened a little more each day like a boa constrictor squeezing the life out of her, so she’d made a list of universities with good music programs and taped it to her bedroom wall, closed her eyes, stuck a pin in it, and applied for admission and a transfer of credits the next day. 

Which is how she finds the first day of her senior year of university in a new place, walking around a corner in the arts building and slamming into a girl who’s taller than her, no doubt stronger than her, but who somehow manages to be the one who falls over, her bony ankle slamming into Sungkyung’s calf and making her drop her guitar case right on the girl’s head before it clatters to the floor, falling open in a way that guitar cases are definitely not supposed to do. 

Sungkyung sways in place, attempting to recover from her surprise, and the girl blinks up at her, expressionless but with something curiously catlike about her eyes and mouth, and then the girl flushes and grins bashfully, dimples popping out, and Sungkyung is _fucked_. 

The girl scrambles to her feet, all awkward knees under her black skirt (Sungkyung tries desperately not to notice the flash of thigh she gets before the girl smooths her skirt down but—those _thighs_ ), and bobs a bow so low that Sungkyung, who usually finds herself annoyed with her juniors’ lack of respect, is almost embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, sunbae. I’m always tripping, I’m such a klutz—I’m so sorry,” the girl says in a deeper voice than Sungkyung anticipated, mezzo-soprano edging into contralto but not quite getting there, and oh, yeah, this is when Sungkyung is supposed to respond, either with a kind “that’s okay” or (more likely, coming from Sungkyung) something stern about paying attention to where she’s going so she doesn’t run into her elders. 

But the girl is dropping to her knees again, right beside Sungkyung’s open guitar case, nervous hands darting out and then back as if she can’t decide if she’s allowed to touch it. “If I hurt your guitar, I’ll pay to repair it, I promise, I’m so sorry, I—” And then one of the girl’s hands brushes the honey wood of the guitar’s face, and Sungkyung is struck not only by that hand itself (residing where strong meets pretty, hands that were just made to touch a body in all the right ways), but the gentle reverence with which her fingertips stroke the wood. Fuck.

The girl jerks her hand back as if just noticing that she’d touched the instrument, and then carefully but hurriedly pulls the case closed with a click and drags herself upright, this time with the guitar in hand, which she presents to a still-silent Sungkyung. “I think it’s okay, sunbae…?” Her voice tilts upwards in question, and Sungkyung realizes she must still be just looking at this girl who’s been waiting for her to actually say something, shifting from foot to foot and looking more than a bit nervous at Sungkyung’s continued silence.

Sungkyung snaps herself out of it, takes the guitar from the girl (their hands only brush against each other a little and Sungkyung definitely doesn’t think about it too much), and says, “I’m sure it’s fine; it’s had worse bumps.” Which is not at all the Sungkyung thing to say, even if she is in a new environment and a little off kilter by how completely transformed her life is from just a few weeks ago and a little dazed by the mixture of beautiful and awkward that is this girl in front of her. Normally Sungkyung would launch into a lecture and make a hoobae regret ever getting within brushing distance of her guitar, much less knocking it to the ground, even if the one doing the knocking was an uncomfortable mixture of womanly and girlish, but there had been something in the way this girl touched the guitar that leaves her saying, “Do you play?” instead.

The girl’s shoulders—yes, awkward shoulders had been Sungkyung’s first impression, and she was right: she holds them like she’s not used to being as tall as she is, like she’d really rather not get the attention that a face and body like that undoubtedly draw, a way that makes her seem vulnerable in ways that Sungkyung would rather not contemplate—slump a little in relief, and the girl hurriedly answers, “Only a little, sunbae. I’m teaching myself.”

“You don’t take a class?” Seems a waste, if you’re at a university with a music department.

The girl shakes her head furiously. “I don’t have time.”

“Are you a music major?”

Another furious shake of the head. “Photography.”

Which makes Sungkyung notice for the first time the bag—the camera bag—hanging from the girl’s shoulder, and how she had made herself fall in the opposite direction so that her right hip hit the ground instead of landing on the camera bag. That twisting of her body to avoid harming her camera had been what resulted in the ankle collision and the guitar dropping, but Sungkyung finds herself strangely glad that the girl hadn’t harmed her camera. There’s something about the way her hand falls to cradle the bag that’s even more reverent than the way she touched Sungkyung’s guitar. 

“But you’re music, though, sunbae?”

“Music theory,” Sungkyung acknowledges. She could have been performance here, but changing university was quite enough for her without changing majors on top of it.

“I haven’t seen you here before, though.”

Oh, right, fine arts share the building with music—most of this girl’s classes would be upstairs, so she must be pretty familiar with the faces of the music students. “Just transferred.”

The girl’s eyes light up, and fuck, she’s so adorable Sungkyung could die. How can she be that adorable and have those hands and those thighs? “It’s your first day? Do you need help finding anything, sunbae? I can show you around!”

Sungkyung finds herself grinning for the first time in a long time. “I have class right now.”

“Oh.” The girl looks absolutely crestfallen. Sungkyung tries to ignore the squirming in her stomach.

“What’s your name?”

“What? Oh, Myungsoon. Kim Myungsoon.”

Sungkyung had intended to keep to herself this final year, focus on her classes and her composition, practice her guitar as much as possible, maybe find another band to play with if she’s particularly adventurous (and heals enough not to feel raw at the memory of Beat). She definitely hadn’t meant to go out of her way to make friends, especially not with girls this adorable and appealing who make her think things she shouldn’t. 

Sungkyung isn’t spontaneous, but the girl’s dark hair falls smooth to brush against her shoulders but has a fuzzy texture around her hairline like she’d straightened most of it but couldn’t quite get the hair closest to her head to cooperate. (And her _thighs_.) “I’m Kim Sungkyung. I have a free block after this next class. Want to show me where the cafeteria is?”

Again, that shining-eyed enthusiasm makes Sungkyung’s head swim. “I’ll be waiting right here when you get out of class, sunbae. Right here.”

“Okay, Myungsoon. See you then. And it’s unnie, okay?”

The smile Myungsoon gives her could light Seoul, and Sungkyung is officially fucked.

 

 

Three months later and Sungkyung still hasn’t gotten any more used to that smile. And Myungsoon still hasn’t stopped giving it to her. The slightest bit of praise or the smallest gift from Sungkyung—complimenting a picture in Myungsoon’s portfolio, paying for her udon at the cheap Japanese place around the corner from campus, clapping when Myungsoon shows off her nunchuck skills ( _nunchucks_. This girl likes _nunchucks_ )—earns that smile. It’s so admiring it’s verging on worshipful, and Sungkyung finds herself digging into her pockets to find a few more coins to pay for Myugnsoon’s mocha or crumpling under the force of Myungsoon’s pleading eyes and playing a half-finished composition for her, just so she can see that radiant smile in reward.

Sometimes Sungkyung doesn’t even have to do anything to earn that smile—she’ll be complaining about her drama queen roommate Woohee or sighing over how she’s going to have to pull an all-nighter to study for tomorrow’s test and Myungsoon will grin at her, wrap her arms around one of Sungkyung’s and say, “Unnie, you’re so cute,” eyes shining the way most people’s only do at kittens or puppies or inordinately adorable babies. Myungsoon just seems happy to be in Sungkyung’s life, to show up one day with a cute little bag from the makeup store even though Myungsoon doesn’t wear makeup and announce, “It’s the best value for your money, unnie, I researched!” when Sungkyung pulls out the eyeliner inside or to drop into her seat late to dinner with an envelope of new guitar strings from the music store the next subway stop down just because Sungkyung offhandedly mentioned earlier that day that she’d broken one. 

It’s maddening, all the little things Myungsoon does, filling Sungkyung’s mind with all sorts of possibilities—especially when Myungsoon insists on going around calling her “unnie” in just that tone of voice that makes Sungkyung’s stomach drop as she tries to convince herself that that’s how Myungsoon says “unnie” to Dongjoo and Woohee, too. But that’s the thing: Sungkyung can’t figure out if the way Myungsoon cuddles into her side while they’re watching TV or clings to her back while they’re waiting in line in the cafeteria is just typical Myungsoon affection of the same variety that has her end up with Dongjoo in her lap in the rec center or backhugging Sungyeon as they hang out in the quad between classes. It _feels_ different to Sungkyung, but maybe that’s because she wants it to be. 

And she can’t bring herself to ask any of the others, either—because somehow, through Myungsoon, Sungkyung has found herself in possession of a whole group of friends, all of whom she likes (most of the time), if not nearly as much (or in the same way) as she likes Myungsoon. She’s halfway disgusted with herself for thinking of Myungsoon that way when Myungsoon so often comes across as heartbreakingly young and naive and hasn’t given the slightest indication that she’s into girls. Fuck, she could easily be straight. Sungkyung has no idea, even though wherever Myungsoon goes there are guys falling all over themselves to tell her she’s beautiful. Myungsoon cringes or droops, trying to hide behind Sungkyung or Sungyeon or whoever is close by, but it could just be shyness. Sometimes it’s hard for Sungkyung to remember that Myungsoon is actually shy—sure, she can be quiet sometimes, zone out and stare at a wall for so long that Sungkyung starts to wonder if she’s still even inside her body, but not nearly as often as she’s loud and silly with Sungyeon or Dongjoo. And it makes sense that she’d be overwhelmed with attention from so many guys, especially since Sungkyung knows that it’s hard to know which guys really like you as a person and which ones are just into you because of how you look, especially when you look as gorgeous as Myungsoon. 

Sungkyung has a few admirers herself, guys in square glasses or with tattoos they think make them rebellious, the wannabe nonconformists who do slam poetry at the coffee shop and know all the right underground bands. But even if Sungkyung were into guys too, she wouldn’t pay any of them any attention, not when Myungsoon is waiting to meet her for dinner or for a guitar lesson where she tries so heartmeltingly hard to gain Sungkyung’s approval that Sungkyung can barely stop herself from kissing her senseless. 

And then one day, she _doesn’t_ stop herself.

 

 

Myungsoon knocks on the door, though she doesn’t need to—Woohee and Sungkyung leave it cracked open most of the time when they’re awake, and Sungkyung always makes sure it’s unlocked for Myungsoon when it’s time for one of their guitar lessons. But that’s so Myungsoon: the perfect dongsaeng, always respectful and obedient in ways that make it seem like a joy rather than a duty. Sungkyung doesn’t tell Myungsoon that she doesn’t need to knock, that she can just come in the way any of the others do, because she likes that Myungsoon is so polite. None of their other friends seem to have any respect for age roles, and even sweet Dongjoo who always makes sure to treat Sungkyung like an unnie only does it because she knows Sungkyung is serious about such things. But Myungsoon is like this with everyone, only maybe more so with Sungkyung. (Sungkyung hopes.)

“Did you have a good day, unnie?” Myungsoon asks, and she never asks just because that’s what you do: she always wants to know about how Sungkyung’s compositions are going and if she’s had any luck finding a band to play with and whether the netizens think Nell’s going to have a comeback soon, always so eager to listen to anything Sungkyung has to say, really. Sungkyung is pretty sure part of her attraction to Myungsoon is just that she enjoys being flattered in that way, enjoys having such a respectful dongsaeng look up to her, but that’s not all of it.

Sungkyung is pretty sure you’d have to be not interested in any woman at all ever to not be attracted to Myungsoon. It isn’t just that her face is so beautiful, though of course it is, but she also has the most perfect s-line Sungkyung’s ever seen. Unlike her model-thin best friend Sungyeon, Myungsoon has exactly the right amount of curves to be womanly but is thin enough that she never seems dumpy like Sungkyung sometimes does. And that figure turns dark-wash jeans and black flats and the black t-shirt she’s wearing now into runway material. No makeup, no jewelry, just her sunglasses or camera bag for accessories, and Myungsoon still looks effortlessly chic, at least while she’s standing still. In motion, she’s still awkward and looks like an idiot when Sungji coaxes her into doing idol dances with her. It shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. But then, Sungkyung finds every single thing about Myungsoon endearing, which is a new experience for a person as prickly and easily annoyed as she is.

“It was good, turned in my composition on time. Did you get some good pictures taken?”

There’s Myungsoon’s sunshine-bright smile as she sets down her camera bag on Woohee’s desk and trips over the rug on the way to plop down on the bed beside Sungkyung. “There was a street fair, like the ones for kids? With face painting and goats to pet and clowns making balloon animals and, unnie, I want to have a million kids!”

Sungkyung grins and shakes her head, because Myungsoon loves kids in a way that Sungkyung will never understand. Sungkyung doesn’t really see the appeal herself, though Sungji snootily says it’s because kids don’t like her. But Sungkyung doesn’t _care_ if they like her, not at all, not even when they trail after Sungji or hug Myungsoon like they’re fairy princesses come to life. “You filled up your memory card then?”

“Unnie, I wish I’d taken a spare! I totally forgot! I could have gotten so many more shots!”

Sungkyung laughs at the slight pout on Myungsoon’s lips and reaches over the foot of the bed to pick up her guitar. “Have you practiced since last week?” Myungsoon has a beat-up second-hand guitar of her own back in her manhwa-strewn dorm room, but she likes to use Sungkyung’s during lessons. Sungkyung had saved up her money all through high school to buy the best guitar possible, and Myungsoon still touches it like it’s a fragile bird about to fly away and so Sungkyung lets her use it during lessons even though she’s never let anyone else touch it. Not even the other Beat girls.

“I did some on Saturday but then Sungyeon and Sungji dragged me out to go shopping with them. They were trying to find jeans for Sungyeon again. She can never find any that are long enough that aren’t too big in the butt.”

“Sungyeon has no butt,” Sungkyung says as she hands over the instrument and watches Myungsoon carefully take it and start to tune it. “She’s never going to find jeans that make her look like she does.” 

“She gave up after an hour and decided that jeans that show off your butt are a product of the patriarchy and stomped out of the store,” Myungsoo says, edges of her kitten mouth curving up even though her eyes are focused completely on the movements of her fingers as she tunes, turning discordant notes into perfect ones with a twist of the tuning keys.

“In her high heels, of course.”

“She says she wears them because they make her taller than men so they’ll know they can’t intimidate her. Also because the pointy toes make it hurt more if she has to kick them in the balls. She didn’t like it when I told her that kicking guys in the balls probably won’t get her laid.”

“Sometimes I wonder whether Sungyeon’s horniness or her feminism will win out in the end.”

“I don’t know, but I bet she’ll be back looking for jeans next week.”

Sungkyung thinks she could watch Myungsoon’s sexy hands tuning a guitar forever, her fingers sliding along the strings, turning the tuning keys as expertly as she changes lenses on her camera. “She still won’t have an ass next week,” she says absently.

“At least that’s one problem I don’t have,” Myungsoon says, and there’s a hint of ruefulness about her tone that’s completely ridiculous, because, yeah, Myungsoon’s ass may be on the big side, but that is _not_ a bad thing, at least as far as Sungkyung is concerned.

Maybe that ruefulness is what makes Sungkyung say without thinking, “Your ass is perfect.”

Myungsoo’s quiet run-through of scales gives way to a discordant twang, and by the time Sungkyung realizes what she’d said, Myungsoon is staring at her, wide-eyed, cheeks turning pink. Sungkyung would panic, except female friends say stuff like that to each other, don’t they? Dongjoo had assured Sungyeon at dinner just the other day that her boobs were perfectly proportional to her body, and Woohee often sighs with jealousy over Sungji’s slender legs. Hoyeon talks all the damn time about how sexy Sungji is, and while the rest of them tease her about it, none of them take it seriously. That’s just what girl friends do, right? That didn’t sound like Sungkyung was coming on to her dongsaeng, right?

Sungkyung knots her hands together in the front pocket of her sweatshirt and tries to play it off. It would be easier if Myungsoon weren’t looking at her like that. “You have to know that—don’t people compliment your ass all the time?”

Myungsoon looks down at her hands still in position on the neck of the guitar, and shrugs. “Guys yell it at me sometimes, but it doesn’t feel like a compliment.”

Sungkyung knows how that feels—catcallers, especially the really sexually aggressive ones, don’t make her feel flattered. They make her feel unsafe. And that makes her angry, and so she shouts them down for their disrespect in a way that impresses even Sungyeon. Remembering the times she’s been out with Myungsoon when the younger girl was wearing tight jeans or her running shorts and got rude reactions from passing men has Sungkyung bypassing fear altogether and heading straight to fury. She wants to rip apart any guy who would scare Myungsoon—rip him apart with her chipped-painted fingernails. Sure, Sungkyung probably appreciates Myungsoon’s ass just as much as any of them, but there’s a difference between silently appreciating and using your appreciation to assert dominance, and besides, she _knows_ Myunsoon. She’s Myungsoon’s _friend_. 

“Well, here’s a real compliment,” Sungkyung says, biting back her anger at the men who aren’t even present and trying to keep her voice light. “Your ass is perfect.”

Myungsoon’s mouth curves into a smile, not one of her wide ones, but a different shade of pleased than Sungkyung normally sees. Her cheeks are still a little pink, though. “Yours is too, unnie.”

Sungkyung reminds herself that it doesn’t mean anything; Myungsoon is just returning a compliment, and Sungkyung’s ass _is_ really great, no matter what Dongjoo says about it being bony in weird places. Doesn’t keep Dongjoo from groping it all the time like her hands’ default position is grabbing Sungkyung’s butt. God, their intragroup dynamics are so fucked up. No wonder Sungkyung can’t figure out if Myungsoon is into her. 

Sungkyung clears her throat, banishing thoughts of butt-grabbing from her mind. “Guitar. Okay. Let me hear what you practiced.”

Always obedient, Myungsoon nods, takes a breath, and focuses on her playing. It only takes four chords before Sungkyung recognizes the tune. She should be annoyed—would be, if it were anyone else but Myunsoon—but she holds her tongue till Myunsoon finishes the last notes, with only a few tiny fumbles. 

“I threw that sheet music away, Myunsoon,” she says when Myungsoon is done, trying to sound stern. Myungsoon drops her eyelashes, sheepish.

“I know, unnie. But I liked it, so I got it out of the recycle bin. I don’t know why you threw it away—it’s pretty.”

“It’s derivative,” Sungkyung says, because that’s been her problem from the beginning: everything she writes sounds like knockoff Nell. Maybe if it hadn’t, Beat wouldn’t have disintegrated into nothing the way it did. “But it sounds pretty good when you’re playing it.”

It isn’t a Sungkyung thing to say, but then Sungkyung rarely says Sungkyung things to Myungsoon. Because the not-Sungkyung things are the things that make Myungsoon look at her so earnestly that Sungkyung’s hands start to sweat.

“Really, unnie? It sounded okay?”

Even Myungsoon’s breathless voice isn’t enough to completely round off the edges of Sungkyung’s personality, so she still says, “You were off on a couple of chords, but yeah. It sounded good.”

And there’s the smile. There’s the dimple and the shining eyes and the quirk of that mouth and the, “Thank you, unnie,” so sincere someone would think Sungkyung had just told her she’s the second coming of Hendrix, and Sungkyung can’t take it any longer.

She’s only wanted to kiss Myungsoon since that day in the hallway, Myungsoon’s long legs akimbo as she looked up at Sungkyung and smiled to cover her embarrassment. Myungsoon’s mouth isn’t as plush as some, but the curve of it is perfect, and the little intake of breath when Sungkyung pushes closer makes Sungkyung’s chest tighten. Myungsoon is stone-still for a moment, then melts into the kiss, and when Sungkyung’s tongue prods at her lips, Myungsoon’s meets it eagerly. 

Sungkyung’s skin is prickling and sparking when they pull back, and she only gets to take a quick breath because Myungsoon’s eyes are glazed over with heated happiness, and so Sungkyung has to kiss her again. And again. And again. And again until she’s got Myungsoon lying back on her bed ( _Myungsoon lying back on her bed_ ), her strong, pretty fingers in Sungkyung’s bright red hair, making little hungry whining noises into the kisses that make Sungkyung go hot all over.

When Sungkyung’s heart is pounding so hard she finally has to stop for more than a minute or she thinks it will explode, she sucks in oxygen as she looks down at Myungsoon, her dark hair strewn out on the gray of Sungkyung’s pillowcase, her cheeks flushed and lips red, her eyes brighter than Sungkyung ever remembers them being. “Unnie,” Myungsoon breathes, and the husk to her voice sends lightning through Sungkyung’s core. “I didn’t think you—I—for so long—since we met I—I didn’t—” Myungsoon stumbles over the words, mind too rumpled to sort them out properly, but Sungkyung doesn’t need her to. Sungkyung’s heard what she needed to hear—though she didn’t really need to hear it at all after the enthusiastic way Myungsoon kissed her back, inexperienced but so eager, her hands clutching at the sleeves of Sungkyung’s sweatshirt or tangling in Sungkyung’s hair. 

Sungkyung shifts herself so that she’s lying over Myungsoon without letting her weight crush her, and then Myungsoon’s thighs—Myungsoon’s _thighs_ —are falling apart so she can settle herself, and Myungsoon’s bare feet slide up against Sungkyung’s calves, and Sungkyung hopes more than she’s ever hoped anything (except to one day be in a band as amazing as Nell) that soon neither one of them will have pants on and she’ll be able to feel Myungsoon’s feet against her bare calves, feel Myungsoon’s bare thighs against her own.

 

 

She does. Sungkyung hadn’t thought that Myungsoon would want to do more than make out right now, because this is new and Myungsoon isn’t very experienced and Sungkyung shouldn’t take advantage of her, but as it turns out, Myungsoon is the one who wrestles Sungkyung’s brand-name sweatshirt over her head and later unzips and slithers out of her own jeans. 

Myungsoon is also the one who pulls away for a moment when one of their feet hits the forgotten guitar, sending a hollow, muted boom through the instrument, and sets it carefully in the far opposite corner of the room where it won’t get hurt. As Myungsoon crosses back to the bed, wearing a simple black bra and panties, her hair already starting to curl around her forehead from the sweat rising there, Sungkyung thinks dazedly that if she hadn’t fallen in love with Myungsoon that first day in the hallway, she certainly would have just now when Myungsoon stopped to take care of her guitar. How is she _real_?

Myungsoon flushes again as she looks at Sungkyung waiting for her on the bed. Sungkyung should probably feel self-conscious—her belly’s not flat like Myungsoon’s and her skull-printed bra doesn’t match her star-printed boyshorts—but she can’t, not when Myungsoon’s looking at her like that and climbing carefully onto the bed to settle down beside her. Myungsoon’s hand skates over the curve of Sungkyung’s belly, and Sungkyung doesn’t know if the tremble she feels in Myungsoon’s hand is really there or if that’s just herself shivering with the contact, but she definitely hears the unevenness in Myungsoon’s voice as she whispers, “Unnie, your skin is so…” Myungsoon trails off, searching for the right word, fingers fiddling with the bar of the piercing right above Sungkyung’s belly button, and Sungkyung suddenly has the mental image of Myungsoon dipping her head to tease the bar with her tongue, and she swallows a gasp at how much it turns her on. But Myungsoon is still talking, so that will have to wait. “That first day you were wearing that v-neck and you were so soft all over and I wanted to touch your skin so bad and—” Myungsoon blushes and falls forward, burying her head in Sungkyung’s shoulder, their bellies and chests pressed together now in ways that Sungkyung heat up all over, right to her eyelids. Myungsoon lets out a small wail, like she can’t believe she just said that, and Sungkyung smiles. 

“I wanted to touch your thighs more than I ever wanted to touch anything,” Sungkyung says, because it’s true, and Myungsoon raises her head and blinks at her. “You were wearing that skirt, remember? And when you stood up after you fell, I saw them and thought they were the sexiest thighs on the planet.”

“I don’t remember what I was wearing,” Myungsoon whispers, wide-eyed. “Just you. And I thought your hands were so pretty and I wanted them to touch me.”

Sungkyung’s smile is a little smug—she knows just how pretty her hands are, she hears it all the time—but mostly just happy. “I thought the same thing about yours.” And then she slides her hand down so she can touch Myungsoon’s perfect thighs and Myungsoon’s eyes shoot open even wider and this is exactly what Sungkyung had been waiting for since she looked down and saw Myungsoon staring up at her. And Sungkyung doesn't want to think about what her life would be like here if she hadn't dropped that guitar case on Myungsoon's head.

 

 

They probably look funny wandering around campus together: Sungkyung in her Doc Martens (she wore them _before_ she fell in love with Jinah, by the way) and her name-brand beanies she saves her spending money to buy and the earrings her roommate Woohee calls tacky, always with her Nell-stickered guitar case; Myungsoon all in black but looking chic instead of goth because of the hue of her skin and her lack of makeup, her perfect face and perfect figure and derpy expressions and camera in hand or in the bag at her side. Sungkyung knows they don’t look like they go together at all, not like Myungsoon and Sungyeon do, both tall and thin and gorgeous, or Myungsoon and Sungji. The maknae line of the group always look like they’re on a catwalk, especially when they’re together, and Sungkyung is a wannabe rockstar in sweats and with bright red hair that “wears you, unnie, really, you just don’t have the personality for it,” as Woohee says (not that Sungkyung gives a fuck what Woohee says), too thick with curves to be fashionable and only average height. 

But Sungkyung doesn’t give a fuck, not when Myungsoon’s face crinkles into a grin whenever she sees Sungkyung, a grin that transforms her from beautiful to adorable in a way that makes Sungkyung’s heart speed up. Not when she knows that underneath Myungsoon’s jeans there are marks all over her perfect thighs, marks Sungkyung left there. Not when Myungsoon still calls her “unnie” like it’s something respectful and sweet and worshipful and dirty all wrapped together. Sungkyung is too cynical to believe in fate, even in the mundane form of a pin stuck into a piece of paper on her wall, but fuck, she’s really glad she transferred.


End file.
